


Inevitable

by 2whitie



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Friendship, Gen, literally wrote it and posted it. Not even a second glace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29812725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2whitie/pseuds/2whitie
Summary: Well, Horowitz and Colfer themselves said that Artemis and Alex would be pals. Would be a true shame not to...write it.Or: Artemis and Alex have run in the same circles for years. It's time they finally met.
Relationships: Alex Rider & Jack Starbright, Artemis Fowl II & Alex Rider, Domovoi Butler & Artemis Fowl II
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	Inevitable

**Hey y’all! In response to the twitter convo Colfer and Horowitz had where they agreed Artemis and Alex would be pals, I threw a little something together. It’s not up to my usual standards—law school kinda sucks any and all time to write competent fic, let alone edit it/check for accidental American-isms/transform it into something other than word vomit--but I just couldn’t help it. Enjoy!**

If Jack Starbright wasn’t so concerned about Alex’s future job prospects, he might have met Artemis Fowl sooner.

“Ewww,” she had said while sifting through the pile of glossy pamphlets Alex had brought home from school. “Fowl Industries.”

Alex continued the daily shedding of his school uniform into something a little more comfy. “Don’t say that to loudly ‘round Tom. He about cried tears of joy after watching their VR display. He can’t go out for it—you have to be on-track for both Chem and Computer Sci A-Levels to even qualify.”

Tie defeated and sweatpants embraced, the blonde teen jumped onto the counter and grabbed an apple—with Jack’s cooking, it was likely the only item of actual nutritional value his body was going to get that night. “Sides, they’re big into green energy. Didn’t you rip into me yesterday for blasting the AC, all while going on about our carbon footprint?

“Yup,” said Jack, completely unrepentant in the way only Americans getting mocked by Brits can be. “I did say that. I’m also saying that the Fowls give me Heebie-Jeebies. I wait for Buffy to attack every time I see either little Fowl or big Fowl on the BBC.”

Alex rolled his eyes and took another bite. “Think Blunt would sign me a waiver for an internship credit? One credit per bullet hole?”

“Don’t even joke.”

***

If Butler wasn’t in the possession of morals, Artemis Fowl might have met Alex Rider before either of them were old enough to drive. The massive bodyguard has answered his phone, listened to MI6’s proposal to sneak a teenager into Point Blanc, then hung up without a word.

Butler’s phone was an escapee from Artemis’s lab, a slick fusion of human and fairy tech that could do everything from access nearby security cameras to analyze the chemical composition of the object it was touching. There were other functions as well—some of which _technically_ qualified the phone as a weapon of mass destruction, but what Interpol didn’t know didn’t hurt them.

(Juliet had likened the phone to the macaroni crafts kids give their parents. Artemis didn’t speak to her for a week.)

It was also quite competent at blocking unknown numbers, so upon realization that Butler had hung up without a word, the Irish teenager looked up from the temporal equations covering his desk. “Problem, Butler?”

Butler slid the phone into his pocket. “Not ours.”

If Artemis wanted to throw himself into international intrigue, that was his right, and Butler would support him. He did, however, draw the line at helping European governments throw teenagers at psychopaths.

And if Alan Blunt burned a few of his identities in retaliation, so be it.

***

The first time they met in person, it wasn’t Artemis Fowl meeting Alex Rider; it was Stefan Bashkir exchanging pleasantries with Luca Romano.

Natalia Andreyev: heiress of a fortune watered by the corruption of the Soviet Union that had only blossomed since. Never quite free from the rotting core of her family’s bank account, her annual gala was equal parts honest and criminal, the circulated money clean, dirty, new, old, and blood. The international espionage community viewed it as a sort of work party, a get together where professionals freely mixed their champagne and cyanide. Any country without a representative masquerading as a waiter, cleaner, or cook was either too distracted by a civil war to show up or boarded the wrong train. Again.

Ostensibly, the Russian chess prodigy Stefan Bashkir was invited thanks to “donations” made to local “business.” Like most of his countrymen, his dress was dark, conservative, and terse. His customary flowers already gifted to the host, he stood to the side with his Uncle Constantine. He wasn’t much of a socializer, but that was fine. Russians will forgive many things of one close to achieving the title of Grandmaster.

In reality, Artemis Fowl was there as the People’s representative to the gala. An LEP intern has picked up some chatter relating to the sale of a weapon that sounded suspiciously like a bio-bomb. The ink on the report had barely dried before Foaly was on the phone, unsubtly inquiring into whether Artemis had kept up his Russian.

Trouble, for once, did not object.

Ostensibly, Luca Romano was here to bus tables, not break any china, and not accidentally bump into anyone dressed in diamonds and silk. Tonight, the cleanliness of the gala’s large ballroom was all he had to worry about.

In reality, Alex Rider was unhappily there as the British representative to the gala. Apparently, he was the only suitable candidate for the job, since everyone else under Blunt’s employ was either undercover or had worked this gig before.

“Cheer up,” Smither had told him kindly. “I won’t say anything to jinx you, but I will tell you that this really isn’t a big deal. Agents go every year, and no one has ever gotten killed.”

Alex did not feel better.

***

Several people were screaming. Alex decided that was a problem for future Alex to handle and kicked the door open.

The office was a disaster, a complete mess. The desk was overturned, there were more files on the floor than there was carpet, and the window was wide open.

The blonde teenager barely restrained himself from letting loose every curse he knew and started rifling through the drawers. His cover was well and truly blown—you couldn’t disarm a guard, shoot the chain holding a chandelier to the ceiling, and leap over a table and _not_ blow it, so he needed to make his last moments in the house count.

Banking records. Official correspondence. Certificates of Provenance. Anything that might help indicate why ex-members of SCORPIA would start a very public shootout in what had historically been a non-violent gala. He scooped up everything in sight and shoved it into a leather bag he’d found tossed onto the ground. _Hurry, hurry, hurry._

Behind him, there were footsteps. Time to be gone.

He climbed onto the window sill, but before he could execute the somewhat risky jump he’d been planning on, something grabbed the back of his waiter’s uniform and _pulled._

***

Artemis hmmed at the utter chaos tearing the ballroom apart while he waited for the computer to finish downloading its contents onto his flashdrive. For once, the chaos wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t see the harm in tasking Butler to make use of smoke bombs so that he could take a little look-see at the computer network.

It really was too bad that he’d only had one omni-sensor on him—this would be done a lot faster otherwise. One for the network, one for everyone’s cell phones. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was lucky to have the one embedded in his ring. Otherwise, phone data would have been out of the question entirely.

“Artemis. How much longer?” Butler asked. Outwardly, he seemed as calm as Artemis, his drawn gun the only indication that something was wrong. Inwardly, though…

Inwardly was a different story.

His nerves were on fire, every one of his sense straining for anything that might indicate a change in the situation. The other people could calm down and wonder about Stefan’s whereabouts. The occasional shot might turn into a full shoot-out, the full shootout could morph into a fire, there were thundering steps headed to the floor below them--- _there was a creak on the windowsill—_

Butler whipped around and _yanked._

…and found himself with a handful of teenager.

The teen didn’t react like Butler would have expected. He didn’t panic, flail, or scream. Instead, he waited until he was no longer traveling through the air, then expertly lashed out towards Butler’s solar plexus.

Butler was too well trained for the move to work, and quickly folded the boy into a bearhug, stopping him from doing anything but a few ineffectual kicks. Again, the kid didn’t struggle. He just hung limply,, waiting.

Butler’s brain kicked into overdrive.

The martial arts could be explained. Anyone with a local instructor could get one if they put in the work. But the lack of panic, the instinct to save energy instead of fighting a losing battle—that came from professional training. That came from experience.

Artemis hadn’t even turned around during the struggle. He wasn’t oblivious, he just knew Butler would handle it.

Finally, the computer gave a soft beep, an indication that all of the files had been placed on the flashdrive. The Irish teen quickly pocketed it and spun around. “Time to go.”

Butler pointed his chin towards the teen outfitted as a waiter in his arms. “What do we do with MI6 here?”

Artemis masked his surprise well—it was doubtful that anyone who didn’t live with him would think his expression represented anything but stoic utilitarianism.

“He comes with us,” he said, keeping his Russian accent intact. “It’ll be nice for MI6 to owe us one.”

“Gee thanks,” Alex muttered. “You know how to make a guy feel valued.”

Butler let him go, and Alex dropped to the ground lightly, leather bag still gripped in his non-dominant hand. “There’s a ladder out the back.”

***

“You guys aren’t government.”

“No. We aren’t.”

“That’s a Sig Sauer, so you aren’t SCORPIA either. They carry lighter weapons.”

“Assassinations aren’t our area of expertise.”

“….I vibe with that.”

***

Alex jumped out of the dark Bentley onto the steps of MI6’s bland façade. “Thanks for the ride.”

Artemis nodded. “It’s a small world. I don’t think I’m remiss in assuming that meeting again is an inevitability.”

“An inevitability, you say?”

“I do say. And I’m rarely wrong.”

_Fin._


End file.
